A Tribute To My Dad

Barb Van Der Werken's talk at Dr. Robert J. Heaston's funeral

I have in my hand a little pair of finger nail clippers. When you first look at it, it looks quite ordinary, but if you turn it over and hold it in the light, you can see that it has my name engraved on it.

34 years ago my dad got this engraving tool for Christmas. I think he spent the rest of the day looking for metal things around the house to engrave. He asked me if I had anything that needed engraving and I gave him my nail file kit.

I still have these nail clippers today. My dad taught me many things by example. For example, he took very good care of his things. If he got a new book, he put his name in it. If he got out a tool, he put it back where it belonged. If he worked on a project, he approached it with excellence and superb craftsmanship. He did a beautiful job taking care of the lawn. My dad took good care of his things.

My dad took care of his time. He was neither frantic nor bored. He always had a list of goals he was working on. Let's say he was going to church and he was ready to go and happened to have an extra 15 minutes on hand, he would pull out a pad of paper and a pen from his pocket and write down formulas or equations or notes… In small increments of time he would chip away at his big goals. Even when my dad watched a ball game on T.V., he would watch it with the intention of enjoying himself. My dad lived a very purposeful life. He took care of his time.

My dad took care of his health. He was so disciplined. He slept well, he ate well, and he exercised. A year ago, if he told my mom he was taking a walk, that didn't mean he was sauntering out to the mailbox. No, he had a five mile circuit planned out and he would make this hike a couple of times a week.

My dad always enjoyed good health. That is what made this past year a challenge; it was uncharted territory for him. But even while he was sick, he took good care of his health. He sought out medical care, he followed the doctor's orders and he managed his medicine meticulously. I can be more at peace that it was my dad's time to die, because he worked so diligently to live. My dad took care of his health.

He took care of his relationships. His first priority was the Lord. If you ever heard him pray, you would sense the close and personal relationship he had with the Lord. His prayers usually started with, "Dear Lord, thank you for this day..." and then he would proceed to talk to God about the people and events for which he was grateful.

He took great care of my mom. A few days after celebrating their 49th anniversary, he started celebrating their 50th anniversary. He wrote her a card a week for 50 weeks. Usually he would hide them so she had to find them. The cards covered their 50 years together. The first card talked about their first year together. The second card reminisced about the second year and so on. How could he do this? Well, every day at the end of the day he wrote down in a journal the highlights of the day. And at the end of the year, he wrote down the highlights of the year.

My dad took care of his other relationships. One of the things I cherish the most is the way he was so interruptible. In my mind's eye I will always see him sitting in his office chair contemplating the mysteries of the universe. I would stand at the door and say, "Hey dad," and he would swivel around and then I would become the center of his universe for as long as I needed to talk to him or ask him a question. I loved the way he was so interruptible. My dad took care of his relationships.

So, he was God-fearing, disciplined, healthy, romantic, and really smart. Was he perfect? No, no no no. Nobody is perfect. We all have our imperfections.

My dad had an imperfection. He couldn't whisper. This was a weakness. It was hard. Think about it. He might be in church, he doesn't have a hymnal, his neighbor down the pew has an extra one, he doesn't want to be rude, but he can't whisper.

At any time someone could come up to him and say, "Hey Mr. PhD Guy, can you explain the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle of 1927?"
"Yes."
"Can you cite Ten Anomalies of the Creation of Quantum Mechanics?"
"Yes."
"Can you whisper?
"No."

See it kept him humble. And it explains so much. You see, my dad had to write 50 beautiful love cards to my mom because he wasn't able to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Leave it to my dad to take a weakness and make it into a great strength.

34 years ago my dad engraved my name on these finger nail clippers, but everyday of my life he engraved his love on my heart and if you are here today, I imagine that in your life's journey he engraved his love on your heart too, whether it was for a day, a week or a lifetime and that love came through LOUD and CLEAR, because, my dad did not know how to whisper.

So Dad, Mom's true love, Papa, Dr. Robert Joseph Heaston, Bob, Uncle Bob, Good and faithful servant, We love you, we miss you and we thank you for engraving your love on our hearts.